Seconds later, Zuniga shuddered to a halt. With a sigh of satisfaction, he rolled onto his side, drawing Loralee with him so they lay face to face, arms and legs entwined. He kissed her cheek and neck as he whispered her name, and Loralee closed her eyes, utterly content, utterly happy.
She was dozing off when she heard a knock at the door. With a gasp, she started to sit up, but Zuniga held her down, motioning for her to be silent.
"Loralee?" It was Mike's voice.
Panic made Loralee's heart pound in her breast as she heard the door swing open, heard Mike call her name a second time. Tears of shame welled in her eyes. What would Mike think of her if he found her lying on the floor in Shad Zuniga's arms? How could she ever explain? What could she possibly say?
She held her breath, grateful for the darkness. Then an overwhelming sense of relief came over her when she heard the door close.
She was suddenly aware of Zuniga beside her. His arm was like iron beneath her neck, his whole body was taut with anger as he stood up and pulled on his pants.
"What's the matter?" she asked in a small voice.
"You were ashamed, were you not? Ashamed to think he might find you with an Indian."
Loralee scrambled to her feet, wanting to make him understand, but it was too late. He was already gone.
Loralee stared at Zuniga's shirt and moccasins piled beside her dress and shoes, and she began to laugh. He had been so anxious to get away from her, he had not even taken the time to finish dressing.
She laughed and laughed and it was only when she felt the wetness on her cheeks that she realized her laughter had turned to tears.
8
''I stopped by your house last night," Mike was saying, "but you weren't there, so I went over to the schoolhouse. You weren't there either." He looked at her expectantly, waiting for an answer, "Where were you?" he asked when Loralee offered no explanation.
Loralee looked down at her hands. "We finished the lesson early and I went for a walk."
"A walk? At night? Alone?
"Yes. I . . . I needed some time by myself. To think."
"About what?"
"Different things. Teaching, mostly. I . . . I'm having trouble with Short Bear in class. He's causing trouble, and I don't know how to handle it."
"Tell him to leave."
"No, I don't want to do that. He's a very bright boy. I know he could learn if he would just apply himself."
Mike nodded slowly. Loralee seemed sincere, yet her words did not quite ring true. "Is Zuniga still coming to school?"
"Yes. No."
"Well, which is it? Yes or no?"
"I'm not sure. He . . . he said he's tired of reading children's books. I don't think he'll be coming back for any more lessons."
"Good." Mike smiled at Loralee, wondering why she looked so pale. "If you fix a nice lunch, I'll take you on a picnic tomorrow morning."
"All right."
"Loralee, is anything troubling you? Besides Short Bear, I mean? You're not mad at me for coming by the school last night, are you?"
"No. Everything's fine."
"You'd tell me if something was wrong?"
"Of course. I'm fine, Mike, really."
"Good." Taking her hands in his, he drew her close and kissed her. His moustache tickled her upper lip, his mouth was warm and firm, insistent. Loralee kissed him back eagerly, almost desperately, wanting to love this kind, gentle man, wanting to feel the same passion she felt when Zuniga took her in his arms. She was disappointed when nothing happened.
"Loralee, you're driving me crazy," Mike said huskily. "I think about you all the time." He kissed her again, his mouth demanding a response she could not give.
Mike groaned low in his throat as he released her. "I love you, Loralee. How would you feel about being an Army wife?"
Loralee stared up at him, flustered by his unexpected proposal. Marry Mike? The idea had occurred to her, of course, but that had been before she met Shad Zuniga. She had been attracted to Zuniga the first moment she saw him stepping from his lodgedeeply attracted even though he was an Indian and could not be for her. But she could not deny her feelings. His nearness had aroused her in a way that was different from anything she had ever experienced. No other man had ever affected her in such a way.
She studied Mike. He was young and handsome, with a brilliant career ahead of him. He was sweet and gentle, thoughtful, the type of man every girl dreamed of. Why couldn't she return his love? Why did she feel nothing more than friendly affection for him?
"Loralee?" His hand stroked her cheek as he waited for her answer.
"I . . . I don't know."
"Think about it, will you?"
"I will. I promise."
"Good. Don't forget about the picnic. I'll pick you up about ten and we'll make a day of it."
Loralee smiled and waved as he swung into the saddle and rode toward the fort.
Mike arrived promptly at ten Saturday morning, a bouquet of flowers in one hand, a bottle of wine in the other.
"Ready?" he asked.
Loralee nodded. Picking up a large wicker basket, she followed Mike outside, and smiled as he lifted her into the shiny black buggy he had borrowed for the day.
They chatted about the weather and the people at the fort as they rode toward a shady spot beside the stream. Mike helped Loralee from the buggy and tethered the horse to an overhanging tree branch while Loralee spread a blanket on the ground.
"It's pretty here, isn't it?" Mike mused.
"Yes, lovely."
"Shall we take a walk before lunch?"
"If you like."
Hand in hand, they walked along the stream, stopping now and then to admire a wildflower or plant. Mike couldn't keep his eyes off the woman beside him. She was an enchanting creature, as charmed by the antics of a prairie dog as any young child. She stopped at an ant hill to watch dozens of red ants scurry back and forth in search of food, and smiled with pleasure when a tiny yellow butterfly perched on her shoulder.
Back at the blanket, she removed her shoes and stockings and dangled her feet in the water.
"How long have you been stationed out here, Mike?" she asked.
"Two years."
"Did you request a Western post?"
"Yes. The fastest promotions still come to those who serve on the frontier."
Loralee laughed softly. "I didn't think there were any frontiers left,"
"It's still pretty uncivilized out here," Mike remarked. He plucked a long blade of grass and twirled it between his thumb and forefinger. "It wasn't all that long ago that Geronimo was running wild in these parts, you know."
"That's true. Why did you join the Army?"
"Just following in my father's footsteps, I guess," Mike answered with a grin. "I was born at Fort Lincoln while my father was off campaigning against Crazy Horse and Sitting Bull at the Little Big Horn."
"Your father rode with Custer?"
"Yes. My old man said it was a hell of a fight."
"But all the men who rode with Custer were killed."
"They were," Mike said, his face grave.
"But Custer split his forces into three groups, you know. My father was with Reno's platoon."
Loralee nodded. General George Armstrong Custer had been a brash, arrogant. headstrong man. His men had called him "Hard Ass" behind his back. It was rumored that he had abandoned Major Joel Elliott and nineteen men on the banks of the Washita River back in 1868 while campaigning against the Cheyenne Indians. Some said it was an error in judgment, and some said it was an act of cowardice.
Custer had made another error in judgment the day he rode into the valley of the Little Big Horn. He had refused to believe his own scouts when they warned him there were many Indians camped in the valley. He had refused to wait for Terry and Gibbon, who were to be part of a three-pronged attack against the Sioux and Cheyenne. Ignoring his orders, Custer had split his forces and attacked the Indians two days early. His men, badly outnumbered, had been s
laughtered.
Captain Frederick Benteen and Major Marcus Reno, the two officers left in charge of Custer's remaining men, had also engaged in heavy fighting that fateful day, suffering heavy losses. The Sioux and Cheyenne had ridden against the soldiers with a vengeance, evening out old scores, avenging the men, women, and children who had been massacred at Sand Creek and the Washita.
Custer's defeat at the battle of the Little Big Horn was still talked about whenever Army men got together. Few battles in American history had been fought and refought so many times. The Custer family had lost five men that day. In addition to the general, his two brothers, Boston Custer and Tom Custer, had been killed, as had the general's favorite nephew, Henry Armstrong Reed, affectionately known as Autie, and Custer's brother-in-law, Lieutenant James Calhoun. The sole survivor of Custer's battalion had been Captain Myles Keogh's horse, Comanche. The horse died in 1891, fifteen years after the battle.
Loralee shivered as she imagined the battle at Little Big Horn, the Seventh Cavalry fighting valiantly against overwhelming odds, the war cries of the Sioux and Cheyenne, the dust churned up by the hooves of hundreds of Indian ponies, the screams of pain as feathered arrows pierced human flesh, the smell of blood and fear as the ground turned red with blood. Thank God those days were gone.
"Loralee? Are you all right?"
"What? Oh, yes. I was just thinking how awful the battle must have been."
"Yes. My father said it was the worst two days of his life. He said they fully expected to die on the ridge where they had holed up. The Indians had a big celebration that night. My father said they could see the Indian campfires and hear their victory shouts. The soldiers spent the night digging trenches while the Indians danced and sang. In the morning, the Indians attacked their position for a short time and then, for no apparent reason, they broke away and left the valley. One of the scouts said the Indians just got tired of fighting and called the whole thing off."
"Do you like the Army?"
"Most of the time. Now and then I get a little tired of taking orders, but if everything goes as planned, I'll soon be giving them instead."
"A promotion, Mike? That's wonderful."
"I can sure use the money that goes with it," Mike remarked, "what with the prices going up the way they are. Last time I got a haircut in town, it cost me two bits."
Loralee nodded. Prices were going up at an alarming rate. Beef was ten cents a pound, potatoes were two cents each, and a man's suit cost five dollars.
"You'll make a wonderful officer, Mike," Loralee said.
"I hope so. Of course, it isn't definite yet. But Colonel Freeman likes me, and he thinks I'm doing a good job. Heaven knows I've put in enough extra hours and licked his boots enough times to earn those lieutenant's bars."
"Mike!"
"Well, it's true. Sometimes I'd like to bury my fist in Freeman's face. The man is a stickler for rules and regulations, all spit and polish and playing by the book." Mike laughed. "Hey, I brought you out here to have a good time, not listen to a bunch of complaints."
"I am having a good time. Where are your folks, Mike? They must be proud of you.
"They live in Virginia," Mike grinned at Loralee, his blue eyes twinkling with mischief. "I'm twenty-nine years old," he said, executing a snappy salute. "My father raises thoroughbred horses. My mother is an excellent cook and housekeeper, and raises the most beautiful roses in the world. I have three older brothers, all gainfully employed and happily married, and a younger sister who dreams of being an actress, much to the consternation of my parents. I don't smoke, and I only drink at parties."
Loralee laughed merrily. "How did you know I was going to ask all those things?"
"Male intuition," Mike answered, grinning hugely. "Now, what about you?"
"I'm twenty-three," Loralee said in the same businesslike tone of voice that Mike had used. "I'm an only child, though I have several cousins back in Philadelphia. My parents were killed when I was thirteen. I don't sing or dance, but I can play 'Silent Night' on the piano. I'm in excellent health and have all my own teeth."
Mike roared with laughter. "You're hired," he declared, still laughing. "How's your cooking?"
For an answer, Loralee opened the picnic basket and served him a lunch of cold fried chicken, potato salad, cole slaw, freshly baked buttermilk biscuits spread with homemade jam, and chocolate cake for dessert.
Mike sighed with contentment as he polished off a second slice of cake. "I didn't think anybody in this world could make a better cake than Mom's," he remarked, "until now."
"Why, thank you," Loralee said, smiling. "That's high praise indeed."
They were packing the leftovers into the basket when Loralee glanced up. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw Zuniga in the distance. He was mounted on the big dun stallion, riding toward the hills. He was naked save for clout and moccasins, and as she looked at him, she imagined that was how he must have looked while riding to war, his hair flowing down his back, his handsome face streaked with paint.
"What is it?" Mike asked, noticing her intense gaze. "Oh. Zuniga. Damn! I knew he had a rifle."
Loralee nodded absently. She could see the sunlight glinting off the barrel of the Winchester that Shad held in his right hand.
''I'd give a month's pay to know where he hides that rifle," Mike muttered.
"I don't understand what difference it makes if he has a rifle or not. He only uses it for hunting."
"It's not the rifle," Mike explained. "He isn't supposed to have a gun, and as long as he does, it's like a slap in the face. He's always putting himself outside the reservation laws. He comes and goes pretty much as he pleases. I know he's slipped off the reservation several times in the past six months, and someday, by damn, I'll catch him."
"And then what?"
"I'll throw him in jail, that's what."
Loralee nodded, her eyes still on Zuniga. She watched him until he was out of sight, her heart beating fast with the memory of the night they had shared.
Later, at home, Loralee wandered aimlessly through her small house, her mind skipping back and forth between Mike and Zuniga. Both men were still in her thoughts when she finally went to sleep.
On Sunday she went to church with Mike as usual, but all through the day she was counting the hours until Monday, wondering if Zuniga would come to the school to see her. Hoping with all her heart that he would give her a chance to explain.
But he did not show up at the schoolhouse on Monday night, or any other night.
The next few days passed slowly. At first, Loralee continued to wait anxiously at the schoolhouse each evening, certain he would come back, certain he could not just walk out of her life after what they had shared, but Zuniga never came to the school. She walked around the grounds at night, hoping he might seek her out, but he never did.
She cried copious tears, berating herself for her stupidity. Of course he would not come back. He had taken what he wanted and now he was through with her. But in her heart she knew that was a lie. She had offended his pride, and that was why he was no longer interested in her. If only she could have made him stay and listen. Yet what could she possibly have said? She had been ashamed; ashamed of the compromising position she had been in, ashamed of being in Zuniga's arms when she had no right to be there. She had been ashamed, not of Shad, but of her own weakness.
But now that he was gone, she no longer cared what people would think or what was right. But it was too late. She had lost him.
She threw herself into her teaching, spent long hours poring over books and stories to make learning more interesting. She taught her students more than just reading and writing, she encouraged them to think, to paint, to sing, to dance, to let their imaginations run wild. And because she was genuinely interested in the Apache children, and truly fond of them, they began to respond. Yellow Basket had a flair for poetry. Young Deer had a talent for painting. Star Gazer could sing like a nightingale, while Little Hawk could tell the most amazing storie
s.
As the weeks went by, three of the older boys began to attend class. They came grudgingly, openly resentful of her because she was white, and a woman. Many times she was tempted to throw up her hands in exasperation and expel them from the class, but she stubbornly refused to admit defeat, and with patience and affection, she gradually won them to her side. When they complained about reading the same books as the younger children, she brought them newspapers and novels to read, and when she discovered how bright and intelligent the boys were, she demanded more of them.
Mike complained that she was always preoccupied with teaching, but he could not deny the results, The children were learning, and liking it.
The days for Loralee took care of them selves, but the nights . . . oh, the nights when she was in bed, alone and unable to sleep. That was when she missed Zuniga the most. It was then that her body began to torment her, every fiber yearning for the touch of Zuniga's lips, for the sweet magic of his hands on her too willing flesh, for the wondrous ecstasy that had filled her heart and soul as they became one.
Night after night she cried herself to sleep, hating him because he had deserted her, hating herself for wounding his fierce masculine pride, hating her body because it hungered for the pleasure of his caress.
One night when she could not sleep, she buried her face in the shirt Zuniga had left at the schoolhouse in his haste to be away from her. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. The shirt smelled faintly of tobacco smoke and sweat and of Zuniga himself. His voice, angry and accusing, echoed in her mind.
Love Forevermore Page 10